


For Mary

by Aris_Silverfin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Food, M/M, Multi, Off-screen death, Over Eating, Thanksgiving, belly stuffing, healing through food, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a Prompt: AU where Mary is American and makes John and Sherlock a huge Thanksgiving feast one year and after she's gone, John and Sherlock keep up the tradition.</p><p>Sherlock knows how important food is to his dear John Watson. And perhaps food is a way to honor Mary's passing for them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Mary

Once the whole Magnussen business had come to a close, Mary dropped the phony accent though she happily kept her new name. She proved to have grown up American and was content to leave her darker past behind her. Sherlock and John had some trouble trusting her again at first, particularly John. Sherlock did his best to help the two rebuild their trust. Mary's new more content, care-free, attitude at last melted through the last of John's reservations. In time, the three of them settled into their new life together (the baby having been another ruse).

But of course, life goes on and the past can never quite be outrun. Magnussen proved not to be Mary's only cause for concern. The three of them wound up embroiled in a rather nasty assassin plot as a result that nearly cost all of them their lives. In the end, Mary did right by them. Saving both John and Sherlock in the face of all she had once stood for while sacrificing her own. Mycroft had had a word with the United States Secret Service, Sherlock wagered once everything was done. And for once he didn't oppose his brother's meddling. It meant that they could give Mary the farewell she deserved. Bury her where she had finally felt at home.

Sherlock and John still left some of Mary's things around the flat, her set of cookware in the kitchen for instance as she had been scandalized to see the meager collection John had managed to keep from Sherlock's experiments. Her favorite books were still on the shelves and her picture stayed on their bedside table, smiling encouragingly for them to get on with their lives. Mary had helped bring them together. Sherlock and John owed her immensely for that.

Eventually, things became routine and usual again. There was still the odd pang when a memory stirred, but it no longer generated grief as much as fond remembrance. They carried on. Just as she had asked them to.

Still, Sherlock could tell that John was suffering as the first anniversary of Mary's death approached. If there was a sure way to infer on the doctor's well being, it was through his eating habits. Food was important to John, Sherlock knew. The man hounded him about it constantly. A happy John ate merrily and took seconds and softened under that jumper. A tormented John picked at his meals or had to be reminded of them. As it was, John seemed more and more agitated as the day approached. The tumbler of scotch replaced his evening tea. His appetite faded. Sherlock could feel the man's stomach growl as he held him at night. Sometimes he persuaded him to have a couple of biscuits. But a couple of biscuits wasn't enough to sustain his John. Fortunately, Sherlock had an idea.

It so happened that Mary had shared a few American customs with the two men. More than one of them involved massive amounts of food. Sherlock remembered being stuffed to the gills with exceedingly rich macaroni and cheese, protesting as Mary laughed and wheedled just a little more onto his plate. John had eaten far more than the lanky detective and had settled back blissfully, undoing his trouser button, round belly merrily expanding outward as he complimented Mary's dish. Food was important to John. And so perhaps food was the answer here as well. Sherlock laid awake for a moment, then rolled away from John and began searching on his phone, brain whirring away as the plan formed and grew. He could begin preparations as soon as John left for work the next morning.

As soon as the doctor was out the door, Sherlock began work. He ransacked their cupboards, pulling out recipes in Mary's handwriting. He sent rapid texts to acquire the ingredients he would need as he flipped through the papers. He set to cooking.

John came home to heavy smells of cooking. He was surprised as his belly gave a loud insistent rumble.

"Sherlock?" he called, tugging off his jacket and hanging it up as he came in, "What are you up to?"

"Come and see," Sherlock replied, placing the last of the dishes out on the small kitchen table that was creaking with the weight of all the food piled onto it.

John poked his head into the kitchen and his eyes went wide.

"Happy Thanksgiving," said Sherlock with a soft smile, "Thought we should keep up the tradition. For Mary."

John huffed a small laugh, and Sherlock knew it was there to try to steady the ex army doctor's emotions.

"I'd like that," he said, managing the sentence at his normal tone. He sat down in his usual chair, taking in the spread. "Blimey... you really went with everything."

"Naturally," said Sherlock bracingly, lifting up the carving knife, "Leg or breast?"

John had both. And mashed potatoes. And gravy. Macaroni and cheese, cornbread, stuffing, green bean casserole, and sweet potatoes. Sherlock helped himself as well. He passed John a beer and watched him sigh as he resumed eating. It seemed that the first mountainous plateful left John transformed. He hadn't spoken a word since he began, but already he seemed more whole to Sherlock's eyes. The detective found himself preferring silence as well, tasting Mary's food on his tongue. The almost cloying richness of the macaroni and cheese, the creamy gravy, hearty stuffing, sweet cornbread. He remembered sharing this very meal with her. He had been careful to follow the recipes exactly. It was as if she had cooked it up for them herself.

_"Alright, you Brits, let me show you what a real meal is!"_

Sherlock smiled and stuffed down another large mouthful of the green bean casserole. He passed John another beer, eyes trailing down the man's body fondly, noting that the gorgeous roundness was returning to the doctor's middle. John grunted as he shifted forward to take it, then loaded a third plate to the edges before eating with just as much gusto.

"It's really good, Sherlock," he said, "Really good."

"Thank you. Gravy might be a touch too salty-"

"No, it's perfect."

Sherlock chuckled and reached over, rubbing a hand over John's middle as it gurgled around the mass of food being stuffed into it.

"Not going to slow down? There's pie as well," Sherlock teased fondly. John groaned, looking at his plate a moment.

Then he chuckled and dug right back in. "I can still-hurp manage some pie even after this."

"Good," said Sherlock, still rubbing the man's belly softly as it expanded out roundly underneath that jumper, pulling up the edge and forming creases around his swollen middle.

Sherlock stood a short while after, leaving John groaning and reclining, with his trouser button undone. He returned with a pumpkin and a pecan pie and loads of whipped cream, setting them out on the table. He cut them each a slice of both and doused them in whipped cream before passing one to John. The army doctor groaned, but wriggled himself upright, propping the dish on his distended gut as he kept eating slowly but methodically.

Sherlock, having a touch more room to spare dug in with gusto and cut himself another larger slice of the pumpkin pie before John had finished his own portion. Sherlock felt his stomach groaning and straining against his buttons as it bloated with all the food. He undid them, a soft pop accompanying each one as it sprang away from the hole. He rubbed at the pale belly that blorped forward, walking two fingers along it wonderingly even as he ate more of the pie. Dessert had always been his favorite after all.

At last, neither of them could bend around their bellies far enough to reach the table for more food and so they slumped back in their chairs, huge swollen, over stuffed middles on display as they burped softly and waited for all that food to digest so they could move again.

"Oof... oh Christ-urp- I'm full," John huffed, stretching and trying to take more pressure off his stomach. His navel was poking out from beneath his jumper now, stretched from fullness. He toyed with it idly.

"Mm too," Sherlock grunted, breathing rather shallowly, his fingers trembling as they cupped his overfed middle. He felt ready to explode. He looked over at John and found him smiling lazily at him.

"What?" Sherlock asked, flushing slightly.

"Nothing," John said lightly, grunting as he shifted to extend his hand to Sherlock. The detective groaned but managed to shift enough to take it. John squeezed.

"Just thinking Mary would be proud of us," he murmured after a little while, rubbing his belly, "Finally ate a real meal."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. His mind was moving at the speed of cold molasses, but he could still deduce what he needed to about his John. They would be alright.

"Same-hmmph- Same thing next year?" he offered.

"God yeah," John answered, flopping back against his chair where he slumped down and closed his eyes with a sigh, hand still on his middle. "For Mary."


End file.
